Cure for Leprosy
by I am The Lev
Summary: In which there is an Irish noblewoman and her dim-witted brother, a diabolical scheme, and a Sheriff who is very much infatuated. Oh, yes. It's going to be fun.
1. Guilty Conscience

Guy sat up in his bed, sweat pouring from his body. He looked at his hands, sighing when he found there was no blood on them.

"Can't sleep?" The voice came from nowhere, but its owner shocked Guy more than anything.

"Morgan?" he asked softly, squinting through the dimly lit bedchamber. She was sitting on top of his desk, clad in a simple, white dress. Her hair was held back with a white band of cloth, a substitute for the headband she usually wore. "You can't be here."

"Oh, too right," she agreed with a casual nod. Guy sat forward, disbelief clear on his face.

"This isn't possible. Morgan Weaver is dead," he finally managed. She paused and locked eyes with him, grinning.

"Yeah, and you'd know something about that, wouldn't you?" Guy grabbed the sword by his bed and stood.

"Get out," he snarled.

"Or what?" Morgan asked with a laugh. "You'll kill me again?" She hopped off of the desk and stood before him, hands on her hips, daring him to try. Guy sighed and dropped his weapon.

"How did you survive?" he asked. Morgan laughed again, and Guy wondered how she'd gotten in and why she was being so loud.

"I didn't," she shrugged simply. If she didn't have Guy's attention before, she certainly had it now.

"What are you talking about?" Guy demanded, his patience wearing thin.

"This," Morgan paused, gesturing to indicate herself, "This is all in your head, Guy."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Guy scoffed. "Are you saying you're a ghost?"

"Not at all," Morgan shook her head. "I'm just a symbol of your conscience."

"My conscience?" Guy asked incredulously. "Don't insult me. If you're my conscience, why do you look like Morgan?" She shrugged innocently at the question.

"Beats me. I'm not here to answer questions, anyway," she said flatly.

"Then, assuming I believe you, why are you here?" Guy inquired shortly.

"Not being funny, but I'm guessing it's because you feel guilty," Morgan whispered conspiratorially. "You did stab two people that you promised to protect and all."

"Two people that had betrayed me!" Guy snapped angrily. "Two people that allowed me to believe in a lie!"

"Oh, come now, Guy," Morgan interrupted. "You knew something was up the whole time. Why else would you ask Allan about Marian and Robin?" Guy was momentarily floored.

"How could you know about that?" he asked, thunderstruck. Morgan tapped her nose and winked knowingly.

"It's all in your head, Guy," she repeated.

"Sir Guy?" Guy spun at the sound of his name, facing the guard that had cautiously peeked into the room. He quickly turned back to face Morgan, but she had gone, leaving no trace of her presence behind. "Sir Guy, are you alright?"

"Did you see her?" Guy growled, crossing the room and grabbing the guard by the collar.

"See who?" The guard sputtered in a panic. "Sir Guy, there's no one here." Guy glanced around the room, releasing the guard. _Get a grip, Guy_, he told himself firmly. _Get a grip._

--

Most people look at a situation, see an outcome, and commit themselves to whatever seems most likely. Luke Scarlet, however, was not most people. Most people couldn't claim that they'd once hung from a rope and survived. Most people couldn't boast that their big brother was one of Robin Hood's men. Most people couldn't say that they'd helped an outnumbered group of men outlast an army of mercenaries.

Given that Luke Scarlet had indeed experienced all of those things (and then some), it was understandable that he'd made a habit of not accepting something until it had actually happened. So, when he'd returned to Nottingham after a particularly enjoyable visit to Scarborough and learned that Morgan had been missing for several days, he refused to listen to the stories circulating that the former castle blacksmith had met a grisly end at the hands of Guy of Gisborne.

Luke paused and inspected the roughly carved figure in his hands. He'd been absently whittling for nearly an hour, calmly reviewing the facts.

"I know that The Sheriff and Gisborne are back from the Holy Land," he started out loud, if only to break the uncomfortable silence. "I know that Morgan isn't here, or in the villages, or at the graveyard." He stopped and took a deep breath. He knew these things because he'd been to the villages and the graveyard. The first of the two had given him little information, and the second had given him too much. There had been flowers at the graves, so Luke was sure that Morgan had been there. There was also an unnerving amount of blood, and a sword that Luke recognized as Gisborne's.

Luke shook his head. There was no proof that the blood belonged to Morgan, and until he saw a body, he simply wouldn't believe that she was dead. He stood, setting the carved figurine on the table.

"More than that," he continued, "I know that people in Nottinghamshire are still in need." He nodded firmly. He would make that last statement his primary focus for the time being. He couldn't do 

anything about The Sheriff or Gisborne; not by himself, anyway, and as much as he was worried about his friend, no amount of worrying would bring Morgan back from wherever it was that she'd rabbitted off to.

--

Tanner Williams adjusted his helmet for what felt like the fiftieth time. It had been three months, two weeks, and five days since Ellingham's men had been forcibly removed from Notthingham. Tanner was still reeling from the event that had taken place, and current events were doing little to help him.

With The Sheriff back, things had returned to normal at the castle, or at least to The Sheriff's shoddy definition of the word. They were still overworked. They were still underpaid. And some of them were still secretly consorting with outlaws, though Tanner wasn't quite sure if The Sheriff counted Luke as an outlaw, or even knew of the younger Scarlet brother's existence.

"Been expecting you," he muttered, stepping into one of the many alleys in the marketplace. Luke gave him a crooked sort of smile.

"Have you seen her?" he asked, none of the amusement in his smile making it to his voice. Tanner sighed, removing his helmet and running a hand through his hair.

"No," replied flatly. "Guy came back with her tag. He told The Sheriff that he put his sword through her and left her body for the birds." The stare he received from Luke told him that he could perhaps afford to be a tad less blunt about the whole situation. He tried again.

"A couple of us went out there to check. There was a lot of blood, but there wasn't a body." Tanner paused. It wasn't his intention to raises Luke's hopes without a cause, but he felt that the facts should be reported. "The theory is that the villagers pulled her body down and buried her somewhere, but if that's true, then they're keeping a tight lid on it. Poppy doesn't even know."

Luke's nose wrinkled at the mention of the old gossip from Nettlestone, but he was inwardly relieved. If she didn't have any information about the whereabouts of Morgan's body, then the blacksmith could very well have survived.

"There's more," Tanner pressed on. "The Nightwatchman hasn't been round for weeks." Luke suppressed a laugh. To keep people from making the connection between Marian's journey to the Holy Land and the absence of The Nightwatchman, Morgan had occasionally donned a costume and delivered food. The blacksmith didn't particularly enjoy those occasions, complaining that the costume was uncomfortable and it was nearly impossible to see out of the stupid mask.

"The Sheriff is happy about it, I take it?" Luke asked. Tanner shook his head, grinning widely.

"Far from. He's got a new problem. Some bloke called Brother Tuck. Arrived just before you did," he mentioned casually. Luke frowned.

"How is that a problem?" he asked. Tanner had been waiting for the question and immediately launched into an explanation.

"Well, with Robin Hood and The Nightwatchman, The Sheriff could just have them shot. They were vigilantes, after all. But Tuck is a man of the cloth. Sheriff can't do anything about him. Prince John may have his back, but he wouldn't dare cross Rome." Luke cottoned on to what Tanner was telling him.

"And this Brother Tuck is handing out to the poor," he concluded, which Tanner confirmed.

"He's at Ripley Convent. Can't speak a lick of English, but he has a translator," the guard continued, replacing his helmet. "At any rate, I better get back." Luke watched as Tanner jogged through the market, skillfully weaving through the crowd as he made his way back to his post.

"Ripley Convent," Luke repeated to himself, pulling his hood over his head.

--One Month Later--

"English air!" Much exclaimed, taking a deep breath as he stepped off the ship.

"English soil!" Allan chimed in gratefully, though his cry was far less exuberant. He had been the first to get off of the ship, but he felt as though he were still standing on it.

"This, I like," Little John smiled, glad to see something green that wasn't Allan's face.

"I agree," Robin sighed. "Come on, lads. We've still got a long ride back." This elicited a groan from the rest of the group, who hardly wanted to be reminded that they were still a considerable distance from home.

Thankfully, Djaq had had the foresight to pay one of the inn keepers to keep their horses. Robin smiled as they walked towards the inn, though the sight of it reminded him of how much he would miss Djaq and Will. While he talked with the inn keeper and paid him accordingly, Much, Allan, and Little John readied the horses.

"What do we do with the other two?" Little John asked, pointing out the now-extra horses. Allan frowned. The fact that Will and Djaq had stayed behind didn't sit well with him, and he'd been pretending not to notice that they were gone. The sight of their horses didn't quite go along with his plan.

"Robin will probably sell them," Much muttered, turning to face the rest of them as he made the comment. In doing so, he caught sight of Allan's less-than-pleased expression. "Hey, cheer up. At least you've got a wife to go home to." Allan smiled despite himself, though he tried to maintain his grumpy demeanor.

"Strictly speaking, that's true," he said airily. Robin entered the stable, grinning widely as a coin purse jingled at his waist.

"At least we'll have something for the villagers when we get back," he shrugged, giving the spare horses a fond pat before climbing onto his own. "Well, let's get going!"

--

The Sheriff was in a good mood, or what he considered to be a good mood. While he hadn't killed the king, he had certainly injured him, and he was convinced that he would no longer have to worry about Guy's conscience. His man-at-arms had stabbed not only his one true love, but his best friend's little sister. If Guy could ignore that kind of loyalty, then The Sheriff was sure that nothing could sway him. The man _was_ acting rather strangely of late, but The Sheriff figured that he was readjusting to the English atmosphere.

Presently, Guy was standing next to him on the castle steps, patiently waiting for the arrival of some visitor. The Sheriff hadn't bothered filling him in on the details, merely explaining that Prince John was sending a noblewoman to Nottingham. Guy couldn't say that he was excited about the new arrival. He'd had quite enough of privileged women.

The carriage that finally rolled into the pavilion was of notable craftsmanship, and the man that stepped off of the back of the carriage, dressed in an unnecessarily opulent uniform told Guy that he would have to deal with his newly developed aversion for privileged women.

"Representing the noble house of Sweeney, her Ladyship Moira and her brother, his Lordship Todd," the man proclaimed, pulling the door of the carriage open and sweeping his arm towards the persons inside. The man that stepped out elicited several giggles from the servant girls in the square. He was tall, with a build that suggested athleticism. He smiled amicably, waving at the servant girls, who'd began to discretely whisper about his soft, blonde hair and his gorgeous, blue eyes.

The woman that followed him couldn't have been more his opposite. She had black hair and blacker eyes, and while her brother seemed to give off an air of friendliness, she seemed to suck all the joy from the area.

"Your ladyship," The Sheriff began, but the woman held up a hand and silenced him.

"Your reputation precedes you, Vaysey," she informed, hints of an Irish lilt to her voice. "You've no need to force such pleasantries with me, I assure you. I am not a slack-jawed idiot that needs flowery words for entertainment." Here, her gaze flitted over to her brother, who seemed to miss the insult completely. Guy looked over at The Sheriff, trying to read the man's reaction. It wasn't often that someone interrupted the man, and it was even less often that he was rebuked.

"Very well," The Sheriff muttered flatly. "Gisborne, show them to their rooms." Guy nodded and held out an arm for the lady, but she brushed past him.

"If I needed to lean on something, I'd have a cane. Far more reliable than a man," she snapped. Todd came up behind and clapped Guy on the shoulder.

"Don't take it personal," he sighed. "She's like that to everyone." Guy had been dealing with The Sheriff for so long that he'd hardly noticed Moira's scathing comment. He was more surprised by Todd's genial apology.

"Your rooms are at the end of the corridor, near the Great Hall. I can show you," he finally muttered.

"No, don't trouble yourself," Todd smiled, picking up his own trunk and starting down the hall. "You may want to have something to eat ready, though. Moira gets angry when she gets peckish." Guy nodded, watching the man walk away.

"My Lord?" he asked, turning to face The Sheriff. He was surprised to find that the man was grinning. In perhaps the most uncharacteristic move that he'd ever made, he patted Gisborne on the back and gave a genuine laugh.

"This, my boy, is going to be a fun visit," he chuckled, practically skipping away. Guy was confused. He glanced over his shoulder, where Morgan, or rather his mental projection of the blacksmith, had been quietly standing for several minutes.

"Not being funny, but he seemed… pleased," she said. "A bit like you used to be when you talked with Marian."

"Don't start," Guy mumbled quietly, unaware of the look he was getting from the guards. "I'm turned around enough without _that_ on my mind."

"Yeah, I suppose the very notion of the Sheriff being infatuated with someone other than himself is mildly disconcerting, if not a bit disgusting," Morgan continued, pulling a face.

"Shut up!" Guy growled, stalking away, though to his chagrin Morgan was following him. The guard on duty looked after his retreating boss and nudged the other guard.

"Was Sir Guy just talking to himself?" he asked quietly. The second guard shrugged.

"Probably. I've been saying it since the beginning. They're nutters, the lot of them," he replied flatly.

--

This will be my first 1192 story since "It's a Matter of Resolve." I've been kicking the idea around for a while, but things kept interrupting me.

No, it's not really Morgan. Guy's literally going insane with guilt. We get to see a Conscience!Marian later on. That should be fun(?)

Let me know what you think of Moira and Todd. I'm still fiddling with their characters at this point, and I'm open to suggestions. As is Moira is obviously more Sheriff like, whereas Todd is meant to come across as more lighthearted and friendly. Think Guy, before he went postal and killed Marian. Something like that.

Hope you all enjoy! Please review!


	2. Discomfort

Moira was not impressed.

"We're nobles," she said pointedly, "and _this_ is how they accommodate us?" Todd poked his head in, smiling brightly.

"I think it's cozy," he commented optimistically, pulling a fresh shirt over his head, relieved by the feel of the white fabric after the long carriage ride in his formal wear. "Besides, the people here are really nice." Moira scoffed, giving him a sharp swat in the arm.

"What have I told you? If we were meant to mingle with _the people_, we would've been born amongst them. Do try and keep that bit of information in that thick skull of yours," she sneered. Todd rubbed at his arm, unfazed by his sister's temperament.

"I'm going to go exploring. You want to come?" he asked. Moira shot him a look that told him that he shouldn't have asked, and he sighed. "Okay, then. "

"If you happen across The Sheriff," Moira called as he was leaving, "Tell him that it is custom for a host to not let his guests die of hunger." Todd waved over his shoulder.

--

He blushed as he caught bits of the whispered conversations that erupted in his wake. Todd had never been truly comfortable in the public eye, and perhaps that's why his father had passed control of the family affairs to Moira rather than his son. It was rather unorthodox, and the official story that Moira had spun was that Todd was younger and softer and therefore not ready to deal with the responsibility of managing the family's assets.

Todd didn't mind. He preferred to have as little responsibility as was possible. It allowed him to do what he enjoyed rather than what was expected of him, though there was the occasional, required public appearance that he could never get out of.

As he wandered through the halls of Nottingham Castle, waving at various workers as he passed, he couldn't help but notice that he not only had no idea where he wanted to go, he had no idea where he was.

"Oh, dear," he sighed, glancing about. In his consternation, he bumped into a shorter man with sandy hair and an odd cap. The man stared at him with wide-eyes, not daring to even move.

"Sorry," Todd apologized. "Really sorry. Do you happen to know how to get to the Great Hall?" The man nodded slowly and pointed, and Todd couldn't help but wonder if the poor man was mute.

"Thanks," he smiled kindly, heading where the man had pointed.

--

Much let out a sigh of relief as the blond walked away, waiting until he'd rounded the corner before ducking out of the castle and into the small house where the rest of the gang was waiting for him. Rather than heading back to camp, they'd decided to stop by Nottingham first. They needed to know how long The Sheriff and Gisborne had been back, whether or not the camp had been discovered, and how the villagers were faring. On the way there, they'd passed a rather elegant looking carriage, and Robin proposed that they investigate.

"What did you find?" Robin asked eagerly, hoping that there was a consignment of gold to steal.

"Nobles. Irish," Much gasped, catching his breath. "I ran into one of them."

"Are you alright?" Robin asked. Much nodded.

"He was actually a nice bloke," he conceded, glancing around the tiny room. "Where's Allan?"

"Still getting information," Little John spoke up.

"But look what I found instead," Allan announced from the doorway, causing the gang to turn around to face him. He stepped out of the way, revealing a very pleased looking Luke Scarlet.

"Luke!" Robin declared, clearly surprised. "What are you doing here?" Luke's happy demeanor faltered, and he cleared his throat.

"Maybe we should talk back at the camp," he suggested.

--

"Blimey. You lot could've cleaned up while we were away," Much commented, somewhat annoyed to find everything almost exactly as they'd left it. Luke grinned sheepishly.

"Well, Morgan was very particular about us moving things, and it wasn't like Hollis was going to argue with her, so I was outvoted," he explained quietly.

"Hollis was here?" Robin asked, sounding slightly disappointed that he'd missed the boy. Luke nodded and looked to the floor.

"He was," he answered softly, the sorrow in his voice hard to miss. Taking the hint, the gang sat and patiently waited for him to talk.

"Ellingham and his gang decided to take Nottingham," Luke began. "So we stopped him." It seemed that the younger Scarlet brother had inherited his story telling abilities from his older brother.

"Who?" Little John asked, prompting Luke to speak again.

"Everyone. Morgan, Hollis, and I. Men from the village. The castle guard. Forrest and Hanton. Harold. It was all of us fighting for Nottingham," he clarified. "And we were good. Had it all under control, until the mercenaries went for the villages." He was sure that he didn't have to explain what that meant, but he also felt that the events that had transpired had involved many noble acts. Acts that deserved to be shared.

"Renton Faulkner died in Clun. He used himself as a distraction, so that the villagers could get out. Forrest fell in Nettlestone," he hesitated, still unwilling to talk about his best friend. "Morgan, Hollis, and I went after Ellingham. That's where he got Hollis. Then Morgan got him." The admission had a quieting effect on the group. Much looked immediately to Robin, who couldn't seem to get around the shock of the announcement. Little John looked distinctly sick, and Allan merely stared at the younger boy.

"Luke, where's Morgan?" he finally asked. Luke looked up at him, pity in his expression. Allan wasn't stupid. He didn't need to hear the words to figure it out.

"No," he said stubbornly. "No, that can't be right." Much put a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Allan—" Allan shrugged off Much's hand, standing up.

"That can't be right," he repeated. Luke returned his gaze to the floor, unable to look at the man that his brother had spoken so highly of.

"She's missing," he said carefully. He still hadn't given up hope that Morgan had somehow survived, even though it had been over a month. "They didn't find…" He stopped. He somehow figured that Allan wouldn't be comforted by that fact, and he was right. Allan had known too much death, seen too many people "disappear" to be consoled by a mere possibility. When it came to matters of hope and probability, he was something of a jaded realist.

"I'm going," he simply stated, heading out of the camp with an unnerving calm.

"Allan, wait!" Much called, going after him. To his surprise, it was Little John, not Robin, that put a hand out to stop him. Much looked up at the woodsman, fully prepared to protest.

"This, I will handle," Little John promised preemptively, following Allan.

"Have you been doing drops?" Robin managed to ask, finally relocating his voice. Luke shook his head.

"No, Tanner told me it was too dangerous. Besides, Tuck's been taking care of everyone," he sighed, forgetting that Robin and Much had no idea who Brother Tuck was.

"Tuck?" Much asked, wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar name. Luke nodded.

"Nice chap. He's at Ripley Convent," he offered. "Sheriff hates him, so he's okay in my book."

"Well, then," Robin announced, trying to push the thought of his fallen friends from his mind, "I should very much like to meet this Brother Tuck."

--

The Sheriff inspected the plate of food, making sure that it was perfect.

"Thanks. I'll just take it to Moira," Todd smiled, holding out a hand. The Sheriff ignored the gesture, picking up the plate himself.

"A clue: no," he muttered. "You're probably exhausted from the ride. I'll take it to her." Beside him, Guy's jaw threatened to unhinge from the rest of his face. The Sheriff was beginning to scare him, even more so than usual. Beside him, Morgan giggled. He ignored her. The last thing he needed was for the visiting nobles to think he was losing it, even though he was convinced that he was.

Todd, however, had never dealt with Vaysey before, so the proposition didn't seem so farfetched to him. Instead, he nodded, his ever present smile widening as he watched The Sheriff go.

"What a nice guy," he remarked. With that, the invisible Morgan burst into fits of laughter, and Guy sputtered incoherently for a moment before composing himself. If he recalled correctly, he'd never heard such a thing in reference to The Sheriff. Furthermore, he was convinced that such a remark was listed in the Bible as a sign of the end of days. He shook his head, returning his attention to the nobleman in front of him.

"If that's what you want to call it," he mumbled. Todd ran a hand through his blond hair, holding his other out.

"My name is Todd, by the way. Didn't catch yours." Guy shook his hand, finding that Todd's smile was somewhat contagious.

"Guy of Gisborne," he introduced himself.

"Killer of young women and traitor to the king," Morgan threw in. Guy involuntarily tensed up, something that Todd noticed. The blond scratched at his ear, glancing up and down the hallway as if checking to see if they were alone.

"You don't happen to know where a fellow can get some ale, do you?" he asked.

"We have some in the kitchens, of course," Guy informed. Todd laughed and shook his head.

"I was hoping for a place with fewer guards and more women, if you follow," he hinted. Guy laughed to himself.

"Of course, there's the Trip," he said casually. Todd looked excited by the prospect.

"Fantastic."

--

Moira inspected herself in the reflection from the silver jug on the table. Not a blemish on her skin, not a hair out of place. Perfect, just as she expected. In the reflection, she noticed the door opening and turned around, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you make it a habit out of entering a lady's room without knocking, or is that only when you're lowering yourself to menial tasks?" she asked sharply. The Sheriff merely smiled and set the plate of food before his guest.

"I do believe that your ladyship was the one complaining of hunger," he pointed out, keeping most of the snark from his voice. Most of it.

"Hunger, yes," Moira commented, plucking a grape from the platter. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave so that I don't have to complain of a headache as well…" The Sheriff took the implications of her comment in stride, sitting down across from her.

"You think you're clever," he noted.

"I _know_ I'm clever," Moira replied. "Just like I _know_ that I find you to be absolutely repugnant."

"Lie," The Sheriff called, crossing his arms across his chest. "I've met women like you. Quick with words. Standoffish."

"I've met men like you. Arrogant. Conniving. All plan, no product," Moira countered. "Tell me, have you ever come close to killing this Robin Hood, or are you that incompetent?"

"Careful," The Sheriff warned. "I've had people hanged for less."

"Funny. So have I," she laughed demurely. "That's why Prince John sent me here, I suppose. Thought we'd be firm friends." The Sheriff moved a bit closer.

"Oh, I think that could be arranged," he said in a low voice. Moira leaned forward and was about to respond when the door swung open, and Todd stuck his head in. The Sheriff and Moira jumped at the intrusion.

"What?" Moira snapped.

"I'm going to the tavern. I just thought I'd let you know!" he practically sang, unaware of what he'd just barged in on. Finishing his announcement, he waved and left the room, leaving the door open. Guy, who'd been standing in the hallway, was all too aware of what they'd barged in on. He quickly pulled the door shut and tried to completely forget what he'd just seen, ignoring the invisible Morgan as she pretended to wretch.

"That idiot," The Sheriff muttered under his breath. At the same time, Moira hissed:

"That twit." The two exchanged glances, which turned into small smiles.

--

Allan felt the bile rise in his throat as he surveyed the line of graves. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to come back from the Holy Land. Morgan was supposed to be there to greet him. He was supposed to sweep her off of her feet. They were supposed to finally make their marriage official and fight side by side and eventually get a cottage and children and a dog. But that wasn't how it was. Instead, he hadn't been there for her, and he was now looking at a grave marker with her name on it.

He ran his fingers over the grooves made by the lettering, clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth were beginning to hurt. He clung to the childish phrase that repeated in his head. _It isn't fair._ He didn't move, even as he heard the ruffle of foliage behind him. He didn't say anything, and he was glad that Little John had the good sense to give him his space.

"Luke is right," he said evenly. "She could still be alive."

"Yeah, and The Sheriff _could_ lower taxes," Allan retorted. There was a moment of silence before Allan heaved a sigh. "Sorry, John. It's just…" He didn't know how to say it. He didn't know how to say that he couldn't allow himself to hope, that it would only hurt him that much more if Morgan was really gone. Fortunately, Little John knew what it was like to lose a wife, and he knew what it was to have a slim chance that she would return. And knowing that, he knew that it hurt every day he believed it, every day that it didn't happen.

"She went down with a fight," he nodded, sure of the statement.

"Not being funny, but how do you know that?" Allan asked, turning to face him.

"Because she was Morgan, and there wasn't a thing that she didn't fight about," Little John replied. A shaky smile spread across Allan's lips, an odd prelude to the strangled sob that escaped his throat. He looked extremely embarrassed, but Little John merely sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"I won't tell anyone," he promised. And Allan A Dale cried.

--

So, who was creeped out by The Sheriff and Moira? –raises hand- Mostly, I loved writing Guy's reaction to that. Also, I needed something to balance out Allan being sad.

It took me a bit to figure out how to approach Allan's reaction to finding out about Morgan. Still a bit unsure of how that part reads…

To me, it just made sense that Little John would be the one to help Allan. I mean, I've written him helping everyone else, so why not? XD And anyway, he's lost a wife, too. So, yeah.

In the next chapter, we get to meet Brother Tuck and a cheeky nun, and we get a spot of very good news. So, hurray!

Hope you all enjoy! Please review!


	3. Coping

"Why are we here?" Allan asked, staring at the tankard in front of him. They had avoided the Trip to Jerusalem Inn, knowing that it was a popular hangout for the castle guards. Instead, they'd stopped at a small tavern that Allan had discovered during his tenure in the castle. The Greenbriar Tavern was not only guard free, but the owners were sympathetic to Robin Hood and his cause.

"Because you are in dire need of some ale," Little John replied. Allan inspected the tankard, marveling at the odd turn of events. For the first time in his life, he didn't want ale. He didn't want a hot meal. He didn't even want money, and the man sitting behind him was practically begging to get pick-pocketed. He pushed the ale away and shook his head.

"Thanks, mate, but not today," he mumbled, giving Little John an apologetic look. Little John fixed him with a stern glare. And let's be honest; who says no to Little John?

--

Several hours and several pints later, an outside observer could hardly tell that the two men were mourning. The string of stories they'd been exchanging hinted more at two old friends catching up.

"There was this one time," Allan started, "that we ran into this knight. He was convinced that Tom had picked his pocket."

"Had he?" Little John asked. Allan nodded.

"Of course he had! Anyway, so I pretend to fight with Tom. Y'know, so that the knight would back off. Anyway, we're rolling around on the ground, and there's Morgan, explaining to the knight that we're not at all well, and that she's been left to take care of us and all," Allan laughed. "She spun him such a story that he not only let us keep the gold, but he apologized! Imagine that! We pick his pockets, and he apologizes!"

Little John was roaring with laughter, partially because of the stunning amount of ale that he and Allan had consumed and partially because the story sounded so much like something the blacksmith would do. He clapped Allan on the back, harder than he intended to, pitching the man forward slightly and causing him to spill half of his tankard.

"She was good," Little John sighed after his laughter had subsided. "At spinning stories, I mean. I think you rubbed off on her over the years, Allan."

"I hope not," Allan sighed, taking a swig. "I'd like to think that it was the other way around. She was always trying to help me, even when I didn't deserve it. I guess that's why I kept coming back to her." Little John smiled, knowing exactly what Allan was talking about. When he'd first met Alice, her compassion caught his interest more than anything; the kind compliments she gave him made him believe that perhaps true love was more than a story that the women in the village told their daughters.

"She was good," John repeated.

"Yeah, she was alright," Allan agreed.

--

Todd didn't look like a lightweight, but Guy wasn't surprised that the man was drunk after only two pints. The blond was currently talking to one of the barmaids, completely missing how she was batting her eyelashes and wiggling her hips and laughing when he hadn't even said anything particularly funny.

"Seriously, though, it must be a hard job," Todd marveled, nudging Guy. "Wouldn't you think?" Guy shrugged, not entirely sure what job Todd was talking about.

"I mean, he wakes up every morning with the burden of the entire shire on his shoulders," Todd continued, slurring the tail end of his sentence. "He has to manage the wealth of the county, make sure that his people aren't starving, make sure that things are running smoothly." As he continued to list, it occurred to Guy that the Irishman was talking about the Sheriff, and he couldn't help but snigger.

"Well, to be honest, he really only takes care of the first one," he admitted, surprising himself with his boldness. Todd mulled the admission over.

"Sounds about like Moira," he finally decided. "She's supposed to make sure that the family fortune is secure until I come of age and raise me in a proper fashion and see that we're taken care of. She's got the bit about money right, but she seems to forget about me. It's like she only keeps me around because I'm useful. Also, it's illegal to kill me." Guy had never sympathized with someone so fully in his life.

"You know," he spoke up, jarring Todd from his wandering thoughts, "You could just take control of the situation. You're the first born son, right?" Todd nodded.

"I am," he confirmed. "But my father was convinced that I was too soft to lead the family. Anyway, Moira is better at that sort of thing." The mention of Todd's sister prompted Guy to think about what they'd interrupted back at the castle, and he involuntarily made a face.

"What's wrong?" Todd asked. "Had too much?"

"We can go with that," Guy decided. He didn't think it would be fair to shatter Todd's blissful ignorance. "Anyway, I can't get drunk in front of my men. It'd look bad." He nodded at the various guards scattered across the inn.

"I understand," Todd nodded seriously. "Image is very important." He stood, wobbling slightly under the influence of the ale.

"Let's go find another bar," he said with a drunken smile. Guy contemplated the proposal for a moment before polishing off his drink.

"Yeah, alright," he conceded.

--

"Can't see him?" Robin repeated incredulously. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you can't see him," the nun repeated from her position behind the barely cracked door. "He's not here."

"Is he out in the villages?" Much asked. The nun glanced over her shoulder for a moment before turning back to them.

"I'm ever so sorry," she apologized, "but I can't help you." Suddenly, the door was closed, and Robin found that he had been denied access to somewhere for the first time since his flight into the woods. At first, he was shocked. Then, when he'd gotten over that, he was indignant.

"Who turns someone away from a convent?" he demanded, stalking off. Much shook his head and followed, preemptively regretting the headache that he would undoubtedly incur from this. Luke glanced between the convent and his friends before deciding that he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

He steeled himself before rapping his knuckles against the door. The nun seemed surprised to see him still standing there.

"I already said that I couldn't help you," she said softly, starting to close the door again. Luke stuck his foot in the way.

"This is a house of the Lord, right?" he asked. The nun nodded hesitantly. Luke smiled. "Well, I hardly think that you should deny us access to a chapel. We wouldn't mind waiting until Brother Tuck returns, and we'd be more than willing to donate to his charitable cause." There was a brief moment where Luke was sure that he'd failed, but to his delight, the nun pulled the door open and stepped aside.

"If any of the Sheriff's men come round, you'll have to hide," she warned. Luke figured that was fair and called after Robin and Much.

"Well, he's certainly more outspoken than Will," Much noted as they walked back towards the convent. Robin smiled.

"He is that," he conceded, patting Luke on the back as they entered the building. It was cozy inside, more than they expected it to be. Light poured through the stained glass windows, casting a vermilion shade across the floor, highlighting the flickering candlelight from the altar.

"Does he leave often?" Robin asked. The nun nodded.

"Yes. He enjoys a good walk. It helps him clear his mind," she explained.

"Is that safe? An elderly man walking through the woods on his own?" Much asked.

"Oh, he's never alone. He's always got his translator with him. Darling thing, she is," the nun smiled. "If not a bit mouthy. She arrived on our doorstep nearly a month ago." She wasn't expecting the reaction the comment would elicit from the outlaws.

"What's her name?" Robin asked.

"What does she look like?" Much demanded.

"Where did she come from?" Luke chimed in. The nun was thrown by the rapid fire questioning, but she did her best to answer.

"Her name is Eleanor," she began, "Eleanor of Newcastle. Her parents sent her to us."

"What does she look like?" Much repeated. If their collective hunch was right, if this translator could be Morgan, then it would make sense that she would use a fake name and spin a story about her upbringing to cover her tracks. Though, why Morgan would allow people to think she was dead was beyond him, Much chose to cling to hope instead.

"She's short. Very small," the nun described. "Fair skinned. Ginger hair." Just as she hadn't predicted their excitement at the mention of the translator, she hadn't foreseen the disappointment that took them when she mentioned Eleanor's hair color.

"It's not her," Robin muttered, sitting down on the nearest pew. He sounded crushed by the statement. Much sat next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"She could still turn up," Luke pointed out stubbornly. "Just like Will and Djaq can come back from the Holy Land." He hadn't intended to mention his brother, but the fact of the matter was that he missed Will, and he was slightly hurt when he found out that he'd stayed in the Holy Land with Djaq. Still, he clung to what Will had repeatedly told them when they were young.

_Luke, no matter what happens, no matter how bad things get, you have to keep hoping. Because if you give up, then they win._

Luke sat down on the pew. He would keep on hoping.

--

It was late, and the Greenbriar was empty. Allan and Little John were leaving the tavern just as Guy and Todd were entering it. For a moment, they merely stood there, staring at one another. Allan had anticipated that his next encounter with Guy would be awkward, but he didn't realize just how awkward. It was a sobering experience, facing down someone who had tried to kill you. It was even more sobering when that person had also taken you in and treated you as a friend. Allan would even go so far as to say that Guy had been like a brother to him.

"Sorry, but do you know them?" Todd asked. Guy didn't answer, instead looking rather thunderstruck at this bizarre turn of events.

"We worked together," Allan murmured. He caught Little John's look of surprise, but he stepped forward. There was no point in denying what he'd done, the man that he'd briefly become. It didn't matter why or for how long he'd actually been that man, but pretending that it had never happened was like pretending that the devil didn't exist. It was a very dangerous notion. "I was his right hand man."

"You still have the gall to say that?" Guy snapped. "After what you did, you dare say that you were my right hand?"

"I'll say more than that," Allan continued, made bold by the alcohol pumping through his body. "I'll say that you were my friend, maybe even a big brother to me. I'll say that we had some good times."

"Don't mock me, Allan!" Guy fumed. He was sure that the other man had already found out about Morgan. Allan shook his head. He assumed that Guy was talking about their friendship.

"I mean it, Guy," he assured. "I may have never wanted to hurt the lads, but you were my friend, too."

"Stop," Guy muttered. "Don't you dare toy with me, Allan A Dale. Don't spin a story about friendship when you know that you want me dead!" At this, he lurched forward. Little John gripped his quarterstaff, prepared to move should the need arise. Todd rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wasn't exactly sure on all the details, but he got the feeling that no one else was either. At any rate, he was hoping not to use his sword.

"Guy, you're being thick. I don't want to kill you," Allan sighed, shaking his head. "Not being funny, but why would I want to kill you?" This seemed to enrage Guy further. Beside him, his conscience manifested as Morgan, who stared down at him with cold, unrelenting eyes.

"Yes, Guy. Why would he want to kill you?" she asked coolly. "He's with Robin Hood again. They don't kill, remember? Oh. Oh, maybe I've got it. Maybe it's because you killed his wife. Could that be it?"

"Stay out of this," Guy growled. Unfortunately for him, no one else could see Morgan. Todd was left to believe that Guy was addressing him.

"Didn't plan on getting involved," he said, holding his hands up to back up his statement. "But if I may say, you both seem a bit drunk. Maybe we should save this for later?" Little John, for the first time ever, found that he agreed with someone from the castle. But Allan was tired and angry and drunk. He pressed the issue.

"Why would I want to kill you, Guy?" he asked again, taking a few, shaky steps forward. "I'm not an idiot. I know that we can't be friends like we were, but that doesn't mean that I want you dead."

"Just shut up!" Guy yelled hysterically. "Don't you think that I know what I've done? She's haunting me, Allan. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't see her!"

"Are you talking about Marian?" Allan asked uncertainly.

"A clue: no," The white-clad Morgan sighed airily, glancing between Guy and Allan. Guy did his best to ignore her, drawing himself up to his full height. He reached into his pocket, gripping something in his hand. He tossed it so that landed at Allan's feet.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked. Allan picked up the object from the ground, running his thumb over the small piece of wood. Will's craftsmanship was undeniable, and seeing as everyone in the gang had their tag, it was fairly simple to figure out who this one belonged to.

"I changed my mind," Allan mumbled, fist closing tightly around the tag. "I'm gonna kill him!" He launched himself forward, as did Guy. They scrambled on the ground for a few moments before Little John and Todd intervened, pulling them apart. At the last possible second, Guy pulled his dagger from its sheath and plunged it into Allan's arm, giving it an unnecessary twist as Todd dragged him backwards. It didn't hurt as much as Allan thought it should, though that would probably change as soon as the alcohol was out of his system. As it was, he stared at the dagger for a moment before removing it, watching as the blood spread from the wound, staining the sleeve of his shirt.

"I thought—" he began, nonplussed.

"Thought what? That things had changed? That I had changed? That's what they thought, too, Allan. Remember that!" Guy sneered, composing himself, retreating back into his role as Guy of Gisborne, right hand of the Sheriff. With that, he led Todd, who was having what some would describe as a mild panic attack, back to the castle. The invisible Morgan stared after him for a moment before disappearing into thin air. Little John looked down at Allan, who didn't seem to care one way or the other about the gaping wound in his arm.

"We need a healer," Little John decided, though what he really meant was that they needed Djaq. "What's close?" Allan shrugged, the mix of alcohol and blood loss making his thoughts fuzzy.

"Ripley Convent is near here," he finally recalled. John nodded and hoisted the man over his shoulder.

"Ripley Convent," he agreed, heading in the direction that Allan specified.

--

"Do his walks usually take this long?" Robin asked, growing more impatient by the minute. The nun shrugged, avoiding the question.

"We can come back tomorrow," Much suggested, beginning to gather their things. He was looking forward to being back in the camp and sleeping on his own cot. Luke had already nodded off, reminding them of just how young he was. The poor boy was jerked from his sleep, however, when the door flew open, and Little John entered, Allan in tow.

"Not being funny," Allan was saying, "but this is a little embarrassing." Normally, Robin would've laughed, but Allan didn't sound quite right. Little John set the shorter man down, holding him up.

"What happened?" Much asked, immediately spotting the blood that had run all the way down Allan's arm.

"Gisborne," Little John growled, allowing one of the nuns to lead Allan away. "We ran into Gisborne."

"And Allan found out," Luke piped up groggily.

"Found out what?" Much asked, furrowing his brow.

"Gisborne killed Morgan," Robin figured out, sitting back down and running his hands through his hair. Little John nodded grimly.

"Is he going to be alright?" Luke demanded as the nun returned to the room.

"He needs to rest," she replied softly. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the wound isn't serious. He should be back on his feet in a few hours."

"Who should?" a voice asked from the doorway. The voice belonged to a small, ginger haired girl. She was looking curiously at the crowd of men, pulling her cloak off and folding it as she walked in, nudging the nun. "New recruits, Sister Josephine?" The nun sighed.

"Do not be so crass, Eleanor," she reprimanded.

"Right, sorry," the girl apologized. "My name is Eleanor. Who are you?"

"I am Robin of Locksley. This is Much, Little John, and Luke Scarlet," Robin introduced, trying not to laugh at the surprised expression on Eleanor's face.

"Bloody hell!" Eleanor exclaimed, much to the chagrin of Sister Josephine.

"Eleanor!" she scolded. Eleanor didn't look sorry for her latest outburst. She was more focused on the hooded figure that was walking in behind her. The hooded figure took in the sight of Robin and his gang and looked to Eleanor. Or at least that's what they guessed. The figure was completely covered by robes.

"Eleanor, do remember your manners," Sister Josephine reminded pointedly.

"Oh, right," Eleanor nodded. "Gents, this is Brother Tuck."

--

Yeah, I know. Boo hiss. Crappy way to end a chapter. Will work on getting the next one posted as soon as possible.

I think that the Guy and Allan scene was the most difficult thing that I've ever written in my life. Ever. Big thanks to Gilari of ffnet and missmomoko of livejournal for advising me on that one.

I think that Todd is my favorite person to write in the world right now. Just saying.


	4. General Confusion

"You stabbed him!" Todd was panicked, and that was putting it mildly. He was gripping Guy's shoulder under the guise of following the Black Knight back to the castle. In actuality, his knees were shaking, his head was spinning, and mouth was moving.

"You stabbed him," he repeated, looking over at Guy. "You put a blade in his arm and then just… You stabbed him!"

"I'm aware of that, Todd," Guy muttered tersely. "It was a conscious decision on my part."

"He was your friend, though, wasn't he?" Todd asked. "He said that! He said you were like brothers! He said—"

"He said nothing," Guy interrupted. "That's the thing about Allan A Dale. He uses words as weapons. He tells you one thing when he's really doing another. He's a liar. It's in his blood."

"Blood that's spilling out of him because, let's revisit this, YOU STABBED HIM," Todd pointed out, raising him voice on the last three words, lightly shaking Guy by the shoulders. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it?" Guy asked sharply, becoming annoyed with the Irishman's rapidly emerging idealism. "Allan is an outlaw, and it is my job to deal with outlaws."

"By stabbing them?" Todd asked. "Is that how things work in England? You make a friend, he makes you mad, and you make him dead? Maybe I'm not reading this correctly. I wouldn't mind if you'd add some perspective to this situation." Todd's approach was rather black and white, so Guy took it upon himself to add a gray area to the palette.

"Allan is an ally of Robin Hood. He became a spy for me. He sold his friends for gold. Then, when I welcomed him, he stabbed me in the back and went running back to his little friends in the woods. Does that add a little perspective to the situation, Todd?" Guy mirrored Todd's request, though his own rendition was steeped in sarcasm. Todd remained silent for a moment, stopping in his tracks as he processed this new information. Guy continued his walk back to the castle, grateful for the silence. The reprieve, however, lasted all of ten seconds.

"He wasn't lying, though," Todd piped up, trotting after Guy. "When he said you were brothers and all. And I don't think that he was really going to kill you. Not until you threw that bit of wood at him. What was that all about, anyway?"

"It belonged to a girl named Morgan," Guy explained wearily. He hadn't discussed the more intimate details of what had happened to Morgan with anyone. When he'd told the Sheriff, he had been careful to leave out all of the "boring, emotional bits" out. He didn't want to share with the Sheriff, and he certainly didn't want to share with someone that he barely knew, but Todd was nothing if not persistent.

"Sister? Friend? Lover?" Todd asked, firing off possibilities in rapid succession.

"Michael's sister, my friend, Allan's lover," Guy clarified, surprising himself. Anticipating Todd's next line of questions, he preemptively answered. "Michael was my best friend growing up. He died. I don't want to talk about it." His tone was stern, and Todd at least had the presence of mind to respect it.

"What happened to Morgan, though?" he instead inquired.

"She's dead," Guy said flatly. "Yes, I killed her. No, I don't want to talk about it."

"Hold on," Todd shook his head. "You're telling me that you killed your best friend's little sister and your other friend's lover?" Guy nodded. Todd scoffed and shook his head.

"I'm not one to judge, but that does come across as a bit wrong," he understated, running his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up at odd angles. "I need a drink."

--

"I'm fine," Allan said grumpily, trying to wriggle away from the cot. The nun, however, wasn't having it, keeping a hand on his shoulder and forcing him back down.

"Stop moving, so I can stitch you up," she scolded. Allan scowled, but obeyed. He did need the stitching, after all. Anyway, he wasn't sure that it would be morally sound to hit a nun.

"This will hurt," the nun warned, threading the needle.

"I'm not being funny, but the dagger in the arm wasn't exactly wonderful," Allan muttered, wincing as she pushed the needle into his cleaned wound. Upon Allan's grunt of disapproval, she tugged at the string harder than was necessary.

"Right, see if I ever come here again," Allan frowned.

"Honestly, you're acting like a child," the nun tutted, continuing with her work. Allan ignored the comment and sighed heavily just to grate on the nun's nerves. Perhaps not the best move, considering that the nun still had the needle in her hand.

--

"I can't stand him. He flouts my authority. He's self righteous and annoyingly happy. What's worse is that he spreads all that good will of his to the peasantry, and a hopeful underclass is exactly what I need," Moira reflected scornfully. "The sooner he drops dead, the better, the blithering idiot."

"So you already know Hood?" The Sheriff asked, inspecting a grape before popping it into his mouth.

"Hood?" Moira frowned, wrinkling her nose. "I was talking about Todd."

"Oh, _that_ blithering idiot," The Sheriff nodded knowingly, helping himself to another grape. "You could have him killed."

"I can't," Moira corrected. "My father may have known that Todd has a soft head, but he also thought that he had the capacity to learn. When Todd reaches twenty eight, he has the right to take over the family, and should he die before then, our fortune will be appropriately distributed."

"When does he turn twenty eight?" The Sheriff asked, a plan already forming in his head.

"Next week," Moira sighed, as if the wait was unbearable. "After that, I've several assassins lined up."

"Assassins. I like it," The Sheriff grinned, scooting closer to her, "but what if I told you that we could easily rid ourselves of both of our problems and not have to actually do anything ourselves?"

"I'd say that it'd better be better than the plans you've come up with in the past. If Hood's survival is any indication, I would say that you need a new perspective," she said bitingly. The Sheriff noticed that she did not shy away from him.

"And are you offering me a new perspective?" he asked playfully. Moira laughed softly, the sound reminiscent of black velvet.

"I think you'll find that I am offering you a great deal more than perspective, Vaysey," she purred, leaning forward. The Sheriff grinned. He liked this; this was good.

--

"It's an honor to meet you, Brother Tuck," Robin said gratefully, extending a hand. Brother Tuck merely stared. He hadn't moved since he'd spotted the outlaws. Robin supposed this was fair. Convents normally weren't filled with groups of charmingly scruffy men. Robin took the opportunity to look the man over. He was shorter than Robin had expected, and he was of a considerably portly frame. His physical features were indiscernible, thanks to the loose robes he was wearing. Eleanor was shifting uncomfortably, looking between Robin and Brother Tuck. She could practically feel the awkward silence and sought to fill it.

"Aren't there supposed to be more of you?" she asked, recounting the outlaws just to make sure.

"Will and Djaq stayed in the Holy Land," Much spoke up. Realizing that this statement could've been misinterpreted, he quickly added, "They're fine, of course." At this, Tuck finally moved, gently nudging Eleanor in the arm. The two, it seemed, communicated through their stares, though the outlaws couldn't see Tuck's face.

"What about that other one?" Eleanor asked. "Allan A Dale?" An annoyed yell from the back answered that particular question, but Sister Josephine decided to clarify.

"He's in the back. He was wounded, but he should be alright," she informed. Tuck gave Eleanor another long glance and sighed. Eleanor seemed to know what this meant and sighed herself. Perhaps Tuck meant to say something; perhaps not. Either way, they were interrupted by a panicked looking nun.

"Guards! Hide!" she cautioned quietly, hurrying to the back rooms. With a practiced ease, the lads slid into the various nooks and crannies throughout the sanctuary, hiding themselves just as the guards marched into the room. They strutted about with an unprecedented arrogance. Eleanor frowned; she'd hoped that the guards would've been locals. However, in the wake of the mercenary attack, the already undermanned castle had been in dire need of new blood. The Sheriff had managed to pull men from Durham. Or maybe it was Dunham. Eleanor shook her head. Some kind of ham, at any rate.

"What can we do for you gents?" she asked in her thick, Geordie accent. As an afterthought, she threw in an awkward, half-hearted curtsey.

" A large shipment of gold has gone missing," one of the guards explained slowly, initially thrown by Eleanor and her out of place speech and appearance. "We believe the culprits may have fled in this direction. Have you seen anything suspicious?"

Tuck leaned in and whispered in Eleanor's ear. The guard strained to hear, but it did no good. The brother spoke too softly, and even when the guard could make out a word, the language sounded foreign. Eleanor listened carefully, nodding every now and then.

"Brother Tuck says that he hadn't seen anything unusual, but he'd like to know if that man plans on returning the penny what he just stole from the poor box," she relayed, smiling boldly as she nodded 

at the offending guard. He at least had the decency to look guilty and replace the penny. The lead guard didn't seem amused.

"Terribly sorry. He will be punished," he apologized, glaring at the guard for his carelessness. Tuck put a hand on Eleanor's shoulder, a gesture that the young woman seemed to understand.

"No need for that," she said professionally. "The penny has been replaced. No harm done. But, if it would ease your conscience, we gladly accept a friendly donation. I mean, it's for the poor and all." The guard took the verbal hint, which Eleanor backed by batting her eyelashes at the poor box. One by one, the guards dropped a coin into the box as they headed towards the door.

"Sorry for the disturbance," the leader apologized , ushering his men out. From his hiding place, Robin suppressed a laugh. He had to admit, he was impressed. The guard's indiscretion had been subtle. Robin had seen it straight away. Then again, Robin and his gang made a living out of such indiscretions, though none of them had ever stooped so low as to take from a church. He hadn't expected Tuck to notice the lift. Nor had he expected such a smooth diffusion of a potential conflict.

"I know that look," Much grumbled quietly.

"What?" Robin asked innocently.

"You're planning something," Much accused. "Something risky and flashy that'll get us all in trouble."

"Much—" Robin began, but the former manservant wouldn't hear it.

"Well, let's hear it. Are we going to dress up as clergymen? Nuns, maybe? Walk straight into Nottingham, steal from those Irish nobles, and make a grand announcement to The Sheriff that we're back?" Much guessed. He seemed resigned to such a plan.

"Much, I was merely admiring Brother Tuck's work," Robin reassured. Just as Much heaved a sigh of relief, Robin smirked and continued. "But now that you mention it… Good plan, Much."

"Thank you," Much said reflexively, only catching on a moment later. "Wait, what?"

--

Guy stared across the rooftops of Nottingham. From his spot on the castle wall, everything seemed so small. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding, nor could he shake his conscience.

"I can't believe you did that," Morgan sighed, shaking her head with disapproval.

"Just leave me alone," Guy said flatly.

"She's right, though," another voice chimed in. Guy froze, slowly turning around. Morgan was standing there, as he expected, but now she was accompanied by another white-clad figure. One that Guy was less prepared for.

"Marian," he breathed, backing up until he hit the stone wall. He slid into a sitting position.

"Guy, you can't carry on like this," Marian said gently, sitting across from him. "Just look at you."

"Pathetic," Morgan chipped in, glaring. Marian, however, seemed more compassionate.

"You've got to get up, Guy. Don't live in the past," she advised. Guy tried to reply, to at least apologize, but the words got caught in his throat. He kept telling himself that she wasn't real, that neither of them were real. It didn't help.

"Marian, I never meant to," he whispered hoarsely. "It wasn't you; it was what you were saying." Marian nodded, a sharp contrast to Morgan's derisive scoff.

"I cannot forgive you until you forgive yourself," Marian said levelly.

"I cannot forgive you," Morgan shrugged.

"You can be more than you are," Marian encouraged.

"Once you stop killing everyone you care about," Morgan tacked on. Guy closed his eyes, simultaneously relieved by Marian's advice and plagued by Morgan's commentary. Could he really break free from the Sheriff, the Black Knights, and everything that promised him power? Or was he nothing more than a tool of destruction?

"Sir Guy?" Guy opened an eye at the sound of the guard's voice. Marian and Morgan had vanished. "Are you alright, Sir Guy?"

"Fine," Guy muttered, standing. "What do you want?"

"There's a bit of a situation in the Sheriff's quarters," the guard said carefully, clearly dancing around the issue. Given the scene that he'd unintentionally witnessed earlier, Guy shuddered to think of what that issue was.

--

Tuck gave Eleanor a congratulatory pat on the back, pride radiating from him. Eleanor looked pleased with herself, laughing lightly as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"That was good," she decided. "I thought I was going to lost it when we called out that guard."

"Normally, you _would've_ lost something," Robin noted, stepping out of his hiding place. "Most likely your tongue."

"Mate, I don't think that you can lecture me about speaking out," Eleanor grinned cheekily. "I've kept up with you, Robin of Locksley."

"Have you?" Robin asked, amused.

"I was in Nottingham when you first started. Changed my life, that did," Eleanor admitted. "My parents were visiting Nottingham, and we saw you shoot down those boys. That was it. I decided then and there that I was going to make choices in my life. No more fear. No more regret. I was going to shake off the chains of oppression and stand free in the sun."

"It meant that much to you?" Little John asked. Eleanor smiled broadly.

"I committed the whole speech to memory," she replied. Robin tried not to look too pleased with Eleanor's enthusiasm.

"So, what are you doing in a convent?" Luke asked curiously. "Not exactly a place to make choices, is it?" Eleanor blushed, embarrassed by her situation.

"Well, my parents didn't appreciate my new perspective," she mumbled. "Thought that some time in a convent would sort me out. As it turns out, shaking off the chains of oppression is a bit more challenging when you're not of age."

"We have tried to calm Eleanor, but there are certain people who would encourage her otherwise," Sister Josephine explained wearily, shooting a look at the robed figure.

"I think we do amazing work," Eleanor said nonchalantly. Sister Josephine let out an exasperated sigh.

"You're too willful. That goes for both of you," she warned. "I shall retire. Take care of your business before morning, if you will." Eleanor had the grace to look chastised as Sister Josephine left the room. The elder nun had barely left when another nun entered. She was younger looking, but she seemed just as exasperated.

"Your friend is being difficult," she announced.

"What's wrong?" Robin asked, wondering just what Allan had done to aggravate the nun.

"He will not let me finish stitching his wound. I told him it was dangerous to let it bleed, but he is being very stubborn," she explained. Robin headed towards the back room, where Allan had climbed on top of a small table, cradling his wound arm.

"Well, I don't know what I was expecting," Luke muttered.

"Leave me alone," Allan warned, clearly affected by the loss of blood and alcohol.

"Allan, let her finish," Robin pleaded. His tone reminded Luke of the way that a mother would plead to a child.

"Don't tell me what to do," Allan snapped, backing up until his back hit the wall. He was clearly tired, allowing himself to slump into a sitting position. "I just need some time to myself."

"While you bleed everywhere?" Little John asked skeptically. "That's a bit dangerous. You could die."

"I don't care," Allan mumbled. "I'd get to see her again."

"She wouldn't want that," Luke spoke up. He realized that Allan could've easily misinterpreted this and clarified. "She wouldn't want you to die. She'd want you to live." His words reminded Allan of Will, and the reminder of his best friend's absence did nothing to help his mood.

"You know that? For a fact?" he demanded. "At any point did you hear her say, 'Golly, Luke. If I die, I hope that no one remembers me and moves on.'?"

"You can remember her without being depressed," Luke muttered, prickling at Allan's harsh tone.

"Really? How? How am I supposed to wake up every morning and know that I'll never see her again? That the best part of my life is gone?" Allan rambled bitterly. "Face it, Luke. I've got nothing worth staying here for. I'd be better off dead." No one had a response for this. Allan was a survivor, sometimes to a fault. He'd never once said anything so suicidal. Out of the corner of his eye, Much saw Brother Tuck gently move past Luke. Curious as to what the clergyman was doing, Much kept his mouth shut. Tuck walked straight up to Allan, who glared.

"What do you want?" he asked, clearly agitated. "Not being funny, but I don't want saving." Tuck said nothing, but in one swift motion, he grabbed Allan by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward, pressing their lips together. Allan's eyes widened in surprise, and his shock momentarily stunned him.

"And _he's_ a man of the cloth?" Much asked out loud, peeking around to see if everyone was as shaken by this as he was. They were. Luke's jaw was threatening to unhinge from his face. Little John was sputtering incoherently, trying to work out any possible way that this behavior made sense. Robin was caught between a nervous laugh and an open mouthed stare.

Much looked back to Allan. The initial shock seemed to have worn off, but he hadn't pulled away. Instead, the tavern trickster had a look of comprehension to him. He seized Tuck by the shoulders, pulling the brother closer and kissing him back. The motion caused Tuck's hood to fall back, revealing a head of dark hair and a very familiar profile, which had previously been masked by the robes.

"Morgan?" Little John asked, thunderstruck. There was a moment of silence.

"Well that makes more sense," Much admitted.

--

Sorry that this chapter took so long! It took me forever to figure out the last scene. I had several possibilities, and picking one was a pretty involved process.

Big, unending thanks to Gilari, who helped me through this chapter as she always does.

Not too many comments from your long-winded author. Conscience!Marian was brought in to balance out Conscience!Morgan. In my head, they're like the little angel and little devil on Guy's shoulders. That makes sense, right? XD

And SheriffMoira is oddly fun. For those of you that are creeped out (and don't worry because I'm with you), pull your socks up. This is about to go off.

And also Eleanor. I imagine that she'd have a Geordie accent, though I've only heard one twice and won't even attempt to write it. Though, when I think about it, I could've heard one more than twice. To me, it sounds pretty close to a Scottish accent. Or maybe I'm just insane. I digress. The "howay" was correct, yes?

Anyway, I really hope that you all enjoyed! Please review!


	5. Infamous, HalfBaked Plans

It took a moment for Allan and Morgan to stop kissing. It took another moment for the shocked gang to find their voices again.

"You're pregnant?" Much questioned incredulously, pointing out Morgan's stomach.

"You're _alive_?" Little John inquired pointedly, indirectly scolding Much for not seeing the more immediate question.

"How?" Robin asked. "Gisborne stabbed you!"

"You were gone for over a month!" Luke pointed out. Morgan didn't miss the accusatory tone in Luke's last sentence. She had expected this onslaught of questions, though she'd quite hoped that they wouldn't look so upset with her. She supposed that this was her own fault, though she stood by her decision.

"I'm not pregnant," she started, "How could I be? I've never--" Realizing what she'd said, she turned a bit red and looked to Allan, who merely avoided eye contact. Deciding that actions would clarify more than words, she began untying the rope belt around her waist. There was a strange, shifting sound. Much thought it was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. As the slipped the belt away, the large bump on her stomach dropped out from under the robes. It turned out to be a sack, which hit the ground with a loud thump. Robin opened the sack, chuckling to himself as gold coins spilled from it.

"Clever," he commented. "And how did you come by this brilliant plan?"

"It's a long story," Morgan said softly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

"I'd like to hear it." The gang's attention shifted to Allan, who'd emerged from the initial euphoria of seeing his wife and realized that he'd thought that she was dead. He was clutching at his half-stitched wound, his blue eyes betraying how hurt he felt. He leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to say something.

"Maybe we should all sit down," Much suggested. To his relief, everyone seemed to agree or were at least too tired to argue with him. They sat in the crowded room, taking any available spot and forming an awkward sort of circle. Morgan, careful to avoid meeting Allan's gaze, took a deep breath.

---

_Kate and Owen missed their son. Matthew had been shot in the castle while working for the Sherriff. He'd been a good lad, and when he'd died his loving parents couldn't see any good in the situation. At the time, there hadn't been any. How could they have possibly predicted that over two years later, it would save someone's life?_

_As they trudged through the cemetery, they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It was silent, as graveyards usually are. It made it all the more obvious when the shriek of pain ruptured the still air._

_They spotted Guy of Gisborne almost immediately. He was holding a woman against a tree, sword plunged deep into her shoulder. Owen pulled Kate behind a nearby shrubbery, having enough sense to know that they couldn't be seen. Gisborne stalked away from the tree, leaving the poor woman there to die._

_"We've got to do something!" Kate whispered urgently, scrambling from behind the bush as soon as Gisborne had gone. Despite the certain amount of hurry-up involved, Owen spared a moment to smile lovingly after his wife. Kate's impulsiveness was both her best and worst quality._

_"Stay awake!" she was instructing as he neared the tree. The woman was doing her best to obey, but her eyes kept closing. Kate kept talking to her as Owen inspected the wound. He was no physician, but he knew two things to be true. The first was that they had to get her down from the tree. The second was that they'd have to bind her shoulder, lest she bled out._

_"Kate, we've got to get her to a physician," he whispered, trying to spare the woman from hearing her fate. The whispering gave it away._

_"That bad?" she asked through clenched teeth. Kate put a hand on the woman's unmarred shoulder._

_"Don't worry. We're going to help you," she said slowly. The woman nodded, carefully putting her hand on the flat of the sword._

_"I made this sword, you know," she commented deliriously, laughing through the obvious pain._

_"What's your name?" Kate asked, trying to distract her as Owen prepared to pull the sword from her arm._

_"Morgan. Morgan A Dale," the woman managed before her eyes closed again and she allowed sleep to take her._

_---_

_"She's lucky," someone was saying. "A few inches to the right, and even I couldn't fix it." The voice sounded like it was coming through a door._

_"She's one of Robin Hood's," someone else said. "I mean, I think she is. She doesn't have a tag, but I'm sure that I've seen her running off with his lot before." A baby was crying, which prompted Morgan to groggily open an eye. She didn't know where she was, and that initially scared her. Wherever she was smelled of herbs and medicines. It reminded Morgan of Djaq, and the thought of her friend calmed her._

_"She's awake, mother," another voice chimed in._

_"About time," the first voice laughed. The speaker was an older woman with a head of wild hair, held from her face by a thick band of fabric. "Hello, dear. How do you feel?"_

_"Dead," Morgan answered flatly, trying to sit up. The woman held her down, preventing her from putting weight on her injured shoulder._

_"You're not that, I can promise you," she chuckled. "And don't even think about getting up for another day or so."_

_"No arguments from me," Morgan mumbled, her head falling back onto her pillow. "Not that I'm not grateful, but who are you?"_

_"Matilda," The woman answered. "This is my daughter, Rosa, and her daughter, Alice." The second woman, baby in tow, smiled kindly._

_"You've had quite a journey," she said. "Kate and Owen brought you to a convent, but they couldn't treat you there."_

_"Gave us a fair bit of trouble, you did," the second voice said loudly. She had red hair and doe-like eyes. "It's Eleanor, if you were planning on asking. Eleanor of Newcastle."_

_"Morgan A Dale," Morgan returned._

_"Well, Morgan, I think you'll be interested to know that Baldy has announced that you're dead," Matilda said cheerily, inspecting the bandages on Morgan's shoulder. "I doubt he's all that confident, though. He's got his men in the woods, in case you show up again."_

_"With that shoulder, I'd recommend not showing up," Eleanor advised. "You wouldn't stand a chance."_

_"About my shoulder," Morgan began to ask, gathering enough presence of mind to work out the seriousness of her injury. Matilda grinned._

_"It'll be fine. You can't go gallivanting through the woods straight away, but you'll be able to use it again. In the meantime, you should keep your head down," she instructed firmly._

_"But the poor still need help," Morgan argued. "I can't just sit around and let them go hungry. And what about Lukey? Someone's got to make sure that he's alright."_

_"So, wait. You're saying that you need to help the poor and keep an eye out for this Lukey character, and you can't be seen?" Eleanor asked, her eyes bright with mischief. Morgan nodded. "This may sound completely mad, but I've got an idea."_

---

"If the Sheriff knew I was alive, he'd keep his men in the woods. They'd eventually find the camp and Lukey, and I couldn't let that happen," Morgan explained. "As long as I was dead, The Sheriff had no reason to keep his men in the woods, and with Brother Tuck around he had bigger things to worry about."

"Surely, you could've at least told the villagers," Much reasoned. "They would've helped you."

"Just like they helped at the Nettlestone barn?" Morgan countered. "The fewer people that knew about this, the better."

"Why couldn't you tell me?" Luke asked, confused. "I wouldn't have gone running my mouth to everyone."

"You would've tried to help me," Morgan sighed, scratching at the back of her ear. "Will would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

"I'm not a child. I could've held my own," Luke said argumentatively.

"It's not like we thought out all the details. There wasn't time," Morgan said, burying her face in her hands.

"It wasn't all her fault," Eleanor spoke up. "It was my idea. Anyway, I don't see what the problem is. Everyone is safe, and you lot can go back to annoying the Sheriff tomorrow."

"The problem is that we thought that she was dead. _I_ thought she was dead," Allan said in a barely audible voice, standing and angrily storming from the room. Morgan looked to the rest of the gang, her eyes pleading, asking for advice.

"Morgan, it wasn't the best course of action," Robin reprimanded. "You should've at least told Luke, or made provisions so that we wouldn't believe you were gone." Morgan looked at the floor, taking the scolding in stride.

"However," Robin continued, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It is a brilliant cover, and I think I speak for us all when I say that we're glad to have you back."

"Even though you left the camp a mess," Much pitched in. Luke and Little John nodded in agreement.

"Is he going to stay angry with me?" Morgan asked, staring after Allan.

"Only one way to find out," Much prompted, giving Morgan a push in the back. For a moment, she just stood there, unable to make her feet move forward, unable to face the possibility that Allan could honestly be angry with her.

"Howay, mate!" Eleanor shouted encouragingly. "Not gonna find out standing there all night!" Morgan smiled at her friend, opening her mouth to say something, but Little John knew that the blacksmith was stalling and promptly forced her out of the room, closing the door behind her.

---

When he arrived at the Sheriff's room, things were just as bad as he'd expected them to be. The guards had made themselves scarce, a wise decision on their part. Todd, who had somehow managed to become more intoxicated than when Guy left him, was standing just outside of the door. Guy didn't know if he was laughing or crying so hysterically. He suspected it was a mix of the two.

"Todd, do control yourself," Moira snapped from inside the room. Guy peeked inside, but quickly looked away. Moira was naked, save for the sheet she'd wrapped herself in. The Sheriff, on the other hand, was being far less modest. He was standing behind her, caution, amongst other things, to the wind.

"It's the end of life as I know it," Todd managed to say, clutching his sides. Had Guy not been so desensitized to Vaysey's base antics, he would've agreed.

"Gizzy, do us a favor and take care of the boy. Her Ladyship and I have more to go over," The Sheriff instructed. Moira made the point clear by slamming the door in their faces, leaving Guy with an intensely panicked noble.

"Let's go back to that pub," Todd suggested as Guy picked him up off of the floor. He wobbled in place, making a valiant effort to remain standing.

"I think you've had enough," Guy said authoritatively, leading Todd to his room. It was an awkward walk. Todd's sister had just entered into an affair with the Sheriff, and the man was clearly shaken by it. Guy wasn't sure what to do. He could ignore it, pretend that nothing had happened, and hope that Todd would be alright in the morning. On the other hand, he could offer a shoulder to lean on, metaphorically rather than just physically.

"I don't think any little brother is meant to see that," Todd commented, almost laughing, dragging a hand down his face. He looked over at Guy, waiting for a response. Clearly, he wasn't allowing Guy a choice. Guy attempted a smile and awkwardly patted him on the back.

"I don't think anyone is meant to see that," he corrected, leading Todd to his room.

---

Allan was too tired to finish his dramatic gesture of leaving the convent. He'd gotten halfway through the chapel when the floor had started to rock under his feet. He sat down on one of the pews and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd felt so totally exhausted. He'd nearly fallen asleep when he felt an odd, tugging sensation in his arm.

Morgan was focused completely on finishing his stitching, giving him the chance to just look at her. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail at the base of her neck, disappearing into the folds of the brown robes. Allan almost expected her to look somehow older, but she looked just the same as she had when he'd left for the Holy Land, apart from the fact that she was currently impersonating a man of the cloth. She hadn't been able to treat wounds before, and Allan guessed that it was a newly acquired skill from the way that she stared intently at her hands and the way that she was lightly holding the tip of her tongue between her front teeth as she worked.

She gave the needle a final pull and neatly tied off the thread, giving Allan ample time to pretend that he was sleeping. He knew he couldn't stay mad at her forever, but he was definitely mad enough to last the rest of the night. They could talk in the morning. He repressed a shiver as Morgan ran her fingers through his hair, gently trailing down the side of his face with the tips of her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Allan," she whispered in his ear before pressing her lips to the side of his face. "Please, please, don't hate me." Allan briefly considered waking up and kissing her back, but he was still pretty mad. Morgan sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, lacing her fingers in his.

"I love you," she whispered sincerely. Okay. Maybe Allan would just pretend to be angry. Just for a little while. Just to teach her that she couldn't go around pretending to be dead. Fortunately, he didn't have to pretend for too long, the events of the past few hours weighing heavily on him, drawing him into sleep.

---

"This is a bad idea," Much grumbled, though he still followed Robin through the gate. "Completely terrible."

"It worked for Morgan," Robin replied.

"Morgan is insane," Much pointed out gruffly. "And it didn't exactly work out for her last night, now did it?" Robin nodded in concession. That much was true. Allan hadn't said a word to Morgan all morning, not even when she'd asked him about his arm. When Robin had decided that Allan needed to stay behind, Morgan had automatically volunteered to stay with him, but the tavern trickster hadn't even looked at her. Robin sighed. It was their first marital dispute, and he had absolutely no intention of getting involved. Such meddling could prove detrimental to his health.

"Eleanor, what do we do now?" he asked, focusing on the task at hand. Eleanor grinned, her tongue poking out from between her teeth in an exceptionally mischievous display. She'd already paraded them through the villages, introducing them as a pilgrimage on the way to Canterbury. By the time they'd gotten into Nottingham, a sizable crowd had formed. The Sheriff stormed out of the castle, followed by the Irish noblewoman. Gisborne and his new friend lingered several feet behind. From the looks of it, they were recovering from a formidable hangover.

"What's the meaning of all of this?" The Sheriff demanded, seeing the small cluster of robed men. He sneered when he spotted Eleanor, as if the mere sight of her brought about the memory of a terrible taste. "Oh, it's you."

"Lord Sheriff," Eleanor greeted with an exaggerated curtsey. "I hope that the good Lord has abundantly blessed your morning." It was clear from her superfluously polite tone that she didn't really extend such kind thoughts to the Sheriff, and the older man didn't miss it.

"Indeed," he muttered flatly. "What do you want?"

"Lord Sheriff, I demand nothing of you. I only wish to introduce you to some dear friends," Eleanor returned.

"If they're friends of yours, I'll pass," Vaysey quipped, drawing a small chuckle from Moira. The two exchanged a series of quick glances. Gisborne made a point to look away, and in doing so, he caught sight of Todd, who was stepping forward. The blonde was staring curiously at one of the robed figures.

"Don't I know you, sir?" he asked politely. The robed figure shook his head as if emphatically denying.

"Not to overstep my boundaries, milord," Eleanor piped up, though she clearly didn't have a problem with overstepping boundaries, "but how could you know him? They only arrived here yesterday." Todd tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed in thought.

"Yesterday," he repeated quietly. Much, the robed figure in question, turned to Robin. They couldn't be caught yet. They hadn't secured their escape route; they'd be trapped. Unfortunately, Todd wasn't giving them a choice.

"Oh, you're the bloke from the kitchen!" Todd blurted out. For a moment, there was silence. It took the Sheriff about thirty seconds to put two and two together. Coincidentally, it took thirty seconds for Robin to form one of his infamous half-baked plans. He threw his robe from his body, deftly pulling Todd into a tight hold and pressing a knife to his neck.

"Hood!" The Sheriff thundered, though no one dared to respond. Robin held the knife dangerously close to Todd's throat, daring the guards to try something.

"Stop him!" Moira demanded. "Don't let them take my darling brother! Please, Sir Hood. I'd pay any price to see him safe!"

"You would?" Todd asked, clearly surprised. This proclamation was news to him.

"Really?" The Sheriff echoed incredulously, but Moira had already thrown herself into a theatric faint.

"You may want to tend to your new friend, Sheriff. In the meantime, we'll take care of her brother," Robin taunted, "We'll negotiate that price she was talking about." With a cheeky grin, Robin led his gang out of the city, Todd in tow.

"I'll go after him," Gisborne growled as soon as they'd made the trees. "I'll take my best men."

"Don't bother," Moira interrupted, opening her eyes and sitting up. "I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Gisborne repeated, confused. The Sheriff helped Moira up and led her back into the castle, away from the prying eyes of the public.

"Of course. I can have the buffoon killed and frame the outlaws at the same time," Moira explained, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Beside her, the Sheriff sniggered.

"_I'd pay any price to see him safe!_" he squeaked in a falsetto impression of Moira. "The faint was a bit much, don't you think?"

"Hood bought it," Moira countered. "But if you're not convinced, I could do a bit of real roleplaying, just for you." The Sheriff gave a lecherous laugh at the proposition and quickly whisked the noblewoman off to his bedchambers, leaving poor Guy to be disgusted by what he'd just witnessed.

Alone in the hallway, Guy made a valiant attempt at clearing his head, but the white clad visions of Marian and Morgan wouldn't allow it.

"Go away," he pleaded under his breath.

"You've got to do something, Guy," Marian said firmly. "They're going to kill him."

"He can't do anything about it," Morgan scoffed. "Just look at him. He's pathetic. Couldn't do the right thing if he tried."

"That isn't true," Marian countered, defiantly crossing her arms across her chest. "Guy, you can do the right thing. Help him."

"The only person that he knows how to help is himself," Morgan countered. "Watch. He'll let Todd die, all because he's too afraid of the Sheriff."

"Guy, please," Marian implored. "Do the right thing." Guy shut his eyes tight, bidding them away as he tried to decide just what "the right thing" was.

---

Sorry that this chapter is absolute rubbish!

When I first got the idea of Morgan masquerading as Tuck, I just sort of ran with it without thinking too

much about the logistics. So, when I was actually writing it out, I ran into a few bumps. Why wouldn't Morgan tell Luke? Why would she be so very secretive? How would the gang react to this?

So, I'm falling back on the fact that Morgan is probably still distrustful after that whole barn fiasco. She also wouldn't want Luke to get hurt if he tried to help her and got caught somehow. That second one may not make much sense, but this is Morgan, and she's never been completely sensible.

As for Allan… Well, wouldn't you be upset if you thought one of your loved ones died, only to find that they were actually impersonating a member of the clergy?

Other than that can of love!angst, I think I rather enjoy writing SheriffMoira. Even if it's the creepiest thing I've ever written.

And Todd. Still love writing him. Look forward to Hostage!Todd. I'm sure that the gang is ready for that. XD

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this (rubbish) chapter!


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